by James Palmer
Leda nodded. “Captain, aren’t you going to reprimand me for assaulting Medic Coleman?”
Hamilton eyed her sternly and wagged his finger at her. “That was very naughty of you. Don’t let it happen again.”
Leda giggled as Hamilton left her quarters. She wiped her face and headed for the medical bay.
* * *
Hamilton’s cochlear implant chimed. “Yes?”
“Cade here, sir. We’re through the Q-gate.”
“Thanks. Proceed with the fleet to the rendezvous point in the Gallas system. I’m on my way.”
There was much to do, but he wanted to check on something first.
“Lt. McGregor,” he said, addressing the science officer as soon as he stepped onto the command deck. The blond man turned and looked at him. “Yes, Captain?”
“Any luck on figuring out those coordinates?”
McGregor tapped a few buttons on his workstation, bringing up the star map they had scanned from Drizda’s trinket. “I wrote an algorithm that has been working on it in the background. There has been quite a bit of stellar drift since this map was created, sir. I’m guessing at least a million years’ worth. I’ve extrapolated—”
“Have you found them all yet?” Hamilton interrupted.
“Uh, no sir. Not all of them. So far I’ve been able to pinpoint three of the seven pulsars.”
“Great. Keep working on it.” Hamilton turned and headed for his command chair before McGregor could offer up any more information.
McGregor set the algorithm back to work as he stared after the Captain, wondering just what this pulsar map was and why it was so important.
Chapter Twenty-One:
The Wanderer Assault
Drizda banged loudly on the hull of Zarl and Tarl’s ship. After a long moment, it extruded a gangplank. “Follow me,” she said to Nightshade. The human nodded and stepped up into the gloom after her.
“Who?” said Tarl.
“Is that?” said Zarl. Two pairs of reptilian eyes glared at the newcomer suspiciously.
“This is Nightshade,” said Drizda. “He saved my life. We’re no longer safe here.”
“What do you want—” began Zarl.
“From us?” Tarl finished.
“We want passage off this Egg Mother-forsaken rock,” Drizda said.
“Pay us,” said Zarl. The shrewd twins looked out their forward view screen, ignoring the two passengers.
“Of all the—” Drizda said. “I’ve already paid you your renegotiated fee.”
“Another passenger,” said Tarl.
“Weight is fuel,” added Zarl.
“Fair enough. Here.”
They completed the payment transaction, Nightshade watching it all with interest. If he was overly fascinated with Zarl and Tarl’s anatomical arrangement he didn’t let on.
“Now that that’s taken care of,” he said. “Where are we headed?”
“Anywhere but here,” said Drizda.
“That—” began Tarl.
“We can do,” finished Zarl.
In the distance they heard a warning klaxon. Nightshade cast a wary glance out the nearest viewing port while Zarl and Tarl checked their instruments.
“The spaceport is—”
“Under attack.”
They watched as a dot appeared in the distance, flashes of light emitting from it that corresponded to explosions on the ground. As the craft grew closer, Drizda could see that it was a patchwork of several ships.
“Wanderers,” she said with a hiss.
“They must want you pretty badly,” said Nightshade.
“Get us out of here now!” shouted Drizda.
“Get comfy,” said Tarl.
“This is going to get bumpy,” Zarl added.
The conjoined pilots went through a hasty and shortened liftoff procedure. The ship shook as its engines came online, thrusters roaring to sudden life.
People were running past them now, dodging falling debris. Drizda’s tongue flicked from her mouth. She could almost taste their panic. She and the human, Nightshade, plopped into a crash couch and did their best to wrap the crash webbing around their disparate anatomies as the ship surged into the sky.
“We’ll be an easy target in the air,” said Zarl.
“And this ship has no defensive capabilities,” added Tarl.
Drizda nodded, her vestigial wings fluttered nervously, tail flicking within the confines of the crash webbing.
“Good,” said Nightshade. Drizda looked at him, seeking an explanation.
“Weapons clusters are heavy,” he said. “This thing looks built for speed. Pour on the speed.”
“I like this human,” said Tarl.
“As do I,” said Zarl. They clicked their teeth in unison and pushed the tiny ship’s thrusters to the maximum. The attacking Wanderer ship did not pursue them, but there could be more of them in orbit.
“What’s this rust bucket called, anyway?” asked Nightshade.
“Snark!” shouted the twins in unison.
“Snark? What does that mean?”
“Don’t,” Drizda snapped, and the twins were silent.
“What did you do to piss off the Wanderers?” Nightshade asked a few minutes later.
“I think I have something they want,” she said. “I’ll explain everything once we get out of this.”
“Whatever she offered to pay you,” said Zarl.
“Make her double it,” said Tarl.
Drizda hissed at them.
The ship climbed higher and higher into the sky, which quickly gave way to black space. A Wanderer ship was parked in orbit more than two thousand miles from their current position, an assemblage of parts from dozens of different structures and vessels. It hardly looked space worthy.
“Can we avoid that vessel?” asked Drizda.
“We think so,” said Zarl.
“Making for the Q-gate now,” said Tarl.
“Good.” To Nightshade she said, “We need to rendezvous with Captain Hamilton of the Zelazny.”
Her new bodyguard nodded. “That might be difficult, but I should be able to get in touch with him with this.” He produced a black disk from a pouch on his belt.
Drizda looked at it and nodded. The Draconi had similar technology.
The ship rocked. “We’ve got company,” said Zarl.
A small holographic tactical wireframe coalesced in the air in front of the two pilots, depicting their ship as a pale blue dot, with a red dot quickly approaching.
“The Wanderer vessel as minimal armament,” said Tarl.
“But we have minimal shielding,” added Zarl.
“Attempting evasive maneuvers,” said Tarl. The ship rocked back and forth. It was disconcerting, even in zero gee. Drizda felt helpless. She clutched the triangular Progenitor artifact tightly in her hand. If she was of the faithful she would have implored the Egg Mother to intervene on their behalf. She looked at Nightshade, who was unstrapping himself from the crash couch. “What are you doing?”
“Be right back,” he said, forcing himself up through the acceleration toward the back of the ship. Drizda wondered if his body armor gave him heightened strength.
Zarl glanced in Nightshade’s direction but said nothing. Nightshade slid under a work surface and pried open a panel with a multi tool from his belt. They were jolted by a sudden burst of speed.
“Can you get us to the Q-gate?” Drizda asked.
“We think so,” said Zarl.
“We’re losing the Wanderer ship,” said Tarl.
Corporal Hemlock crawled back into the crash couch, a pleased smile on his face. Drizda wished not for the first time that her species was capable of as many facial expressions as the humans.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“I got us some more speed,” said Hemlock. “I also boosted the output on the deflector grid. How is this thing not falling apart?”
“Do we insult your ship?” said Zarl.
“No, because
you don’t have one,” Tarl said. They both clicked their teeth at their little joke.
“The big Wanderer ship will be right along,” said Nightshade after a long moment.
“No matter,” said Zarl.
“We’re at the Q-gate now,” said Tarl. “Coordinates?”
They had already transmitted the activation tones, but they needed to tell the gate in which section of the galaxy they wanted to be deposited. Drizda thought quickly. Hamilton had told her that they were meeting with their 7th fleet near the planet Lethe. But if Lethe had fallen to the Chaos Wave, going there probably wasn’t the safest option. She needed to go somewhere they’d be safe from the Wanderers long enough to get in touch with the Zelazny. “Gundra Breen,” she said.
Zarl and Tarl craned their necks to look at her. “Are you sure?” said Zarl.
“Yes.”
“You’re the—”
“Boss.”
“What’s Gundra Breen?” asked Corporal Hemlock.
“It roughly translates to dead place,” said Drizda. “It’s a lifeless, unremarkable system, save for one aspect. It contains an unoccupied Progenitor Archive.”
Chapter Twenty-Two:
The Fleet
Captain Noah Hamilton hovered over vast empty space. Beneath his feet was the blue-gray world of Sundra. Around him were the disembodied heads of the various fleet commanders, flickering one by one into existence like ghosts. This was the sensorium, and it was disconcerting for those not accustomed to it. Noah steadied his breathing and tried not to look down. He knew he was standing on solid decking, of course. He could feel it beneath his boots. But his eyes told him that he was standing in thin air above a large aperture that looked down at the planet below through ten thousand miles of cold, radiation-soaked vacuum.
One of the heads spoke. “You said you had vital intel for us, Captain Hamilton. Speak.”
“These beings call themselves the Ix,” he said, though now he doubted just how vital this information was in the grand scheme of things. Captain Corrigan of the Artemis looked at him coldly, no doubt thinking the same thing.
“We also have a line on an ancient Progenitor weapon. We believe it can be used to stop the Ix.”
The sound of muttering filled the chamber, a disconcerting echo.
One of the floating heads floated into prominence. Hamilton knew who it was immediately. The graying buzz-cut and ragged scar running down the left side of his face from a Draconi soldier’s talon gave him away as Admiral Lang.
“What exactly are you talking about?” said Lang
“Are you familiar with the Progenitor Icon?” asked Hamilton.
Muttering turned to laughter.
“If you’re gonna start talking about alien bedtime stories this conversation is over,” said Lang sourly.
“It’s no bedtime story,” said Hamilton flatly. “I’ve seen it. And I’m close to figuring out the coordinates. If we can—”
“Look, son. I want this alien incursion to be over just as much as you, but we don’t have the resources to go on some ancient treasure hunt. Maybe this Progenitor Icon exists, but even if it does, the odds of it leading us to some kind of super weapon are astronomical. Besides, if the Progenitors had such a weapon, why didn’t they use it against these beings?”
A sea of holographic heads nodded.
“I don’t know, sir,” said Hamilton. “Maybe they were killed off before they could use it. But—”
“Do you have any other intel whatsoever that will help us during the next assault, Captain?”
Hamilton sighed. “No, Admiral.”
Lang scowled. “Then shut your yap and listen. The 79th battle fleet is expected here within six hours. Now we’re going to make our stand here, and make those Ix or whatever the hell they call themselves extinct. Do you get me, Captain?”
“Sir, yes sir!” Hamilton blurted, along with everyone else wavering in the sensorium like disembodied souls.
Many plans were suggested and scrapped, including one that involved attempting to destroy the Q-gates so that the Ix could not use them. Even if such a thing could be done, it was decided that this should be a last resort, as the League of Worlds would cease to exist without them almost as sure as if the Ix succeeded in exterminating everyone. Finally the sense of a battle plan emerged. Hamilton had been ordered to make sure that the evac ships being constructed in orbit above Sundra left the system safely. Clearly a shit detail, as his old drill sergeant back in Basic liked to say. Punishment for suggesting going in search of the Light of Ages, but he and his crew would perform their assigned duties without question.
The meeting adjourned, and the once bright sensorium went dim. Hamilton discovered the ground again and left the room, heading for the med bay.
He found Leda lying on a bed under a large scanner. Displays on the wall behind her head showed wiring coming down from her left temple and threading through most of her body, connecting with muscles and organs. “He said he’s almost done,” said Leda. “Of course, that was almost an hour ago. How’d the meeting with the fleet go?”
“I’ll tell you about it when you’re finished.” Hamilton caught the eye of the head medic, Dr. Zuber, who came toward him.
“Can I have my second in command back now?”
Zuber consulted his slate. “We’re almost finished. Of course, it’ll take me at least another week just to analyze the findings.”
“What is it, Doc?” said Leda.
“Well,” said Zuber to both of them. “Nearest I can tell, this nanocircuitry is building a secondary neural network, though for what purpose I can’t possibly imagine. “
“Can it be removed?” said Hamilton.
Zuber shook his head. “Not without killing her.”
“OK,” said Hamilton. “Thanks, Doc.”
Zuber tapped a few keys atop the scanner and it retracted and slid into the wall behind Leda, who sat up as soon as it was clear.
“How do you feel?” asked Hamilton.
She shrugged. “Great. Better than I’ve ever felt in my life.”
“The nanocircuitry seems to be helping her,” said Zuber. “Her blood pressure, heart rate and oxygen saturation are all textbook, and her body is now capable of remarkable tissue regeneration.” He tapped at his slate. “And there’s something else.”
“What is it?” asked Hamilton.
“Well, I wanted to do a DNA analysis just to see if this nanocircuitry was making any changes on a cellular or genetic level. Do you know what telomeres are?”
“The protein caps on the ends of DNA strands,” said Leda. “They tell the cells how many times they can divide.”
“Exactly,” said Zuber. “Well, Commander. Your telomeres are lengthening.”
“What?” said Hamilton. “You mean like in a de Gray treatment?”
“Essentially,” said Zuber. “De Gray treatments are a lot more involved than that, but yes. It’s happening so fast that in a few days, Commander Niles will probably stop aging at all, maybe even functionally immortal.”
“Wow,” said Leda.
“Indeed,” said Hamilton. “When can she return to duty?”
“Right now if you’d like,” said Zuber. He turned to address her. “But I want you to report here as soon as you feel any of the symptoms you described earlier.”
“You got it, Doc,” she said.
“OK, then,” said Hamilton. “Let’s get back up to the command deck. We have an evacuation to coordinate.”
Chapter Twenty-Three:
The Secret of the Archive
They came at last to the Archive. It floated there, vast in their viewer even though it was still thousands of kilometers away: Ancient, solid, irrefutable proof of a cycle of life and death going back millennia.
“These things—” began Zarl.
“Give us the creeps,” Tarl finished.
“I can’t believe there’s an Archive that’s never been explored,” said Nightshade, watching expectantly through the viewer as
they neared the vast pyramid structure.
“Our people do not like them,” said Drizda. “They cringe at the thought of another race more advanced than ourselves.”
“Our elders say they hold alien ghosts,” said Tarl.
“Truly,” added Zarl.
“It will be all right,” Drizda said, clicking her teeth at their superstition. To have spent so much time among humans they were still very Draconi, and held her people’s trepidation about the unknown. “I’ve been aboard one before. We’ll be perfectly safe there. As safe as anywhere else in the universe.”
If the twin pilots had any further misgivings, they kept them unspoken. An hour later they had arrived. Like every Archive ever discovered, the giant alien artifact was in the L1 Lagrange Point of a lifeless planetoid. It floated there in space as it had for countless epochs, a dull bronze-colored pyramid larger than the largest capital ships employed by either the Draconi or the humans. That her people had ignored it all this time was frustrating to Drizda, though she understood why they did so. The Archives were a reminder that there was once a species much more advanced than the Draconi.
“Now what?” said Zarl.
“We’ll never get in,” said Tarl.
“Leave that to me,” said Drizda. “I learned a little trick.”
Drizda leaned over the tightbeam relay controls and sent the sequence of musical tones that she hoped would open the Archive’s landing bay. After a full minute there was nothing, then a seam opened up, revealing a thread of golden light. Soon it gaped open like the maw of some gigantic spaceborne predator. Zarl and Tarl’s tongues flicked nervously. Their joint tail shook and the tiny set of wings they shared quivered.
“You may enter when ready,” said Drizda.
They guided the ship slowly into the mouth of the alien artifact. The bay was enormous. Lights and guide beams flicked on, directing them where to land. They picked a pair of bioluminescent strips close to what they hoped was the main entrance. There were no other ships in the landing bay, which, even after eons, was spotless, sparkling.
“Wait a minute,” said Corporal Hemlock. “We’re not going to find a breathable atmosphere out there, normal gravity. I hope you guys have pressure suits.”
